


The Road That Leads Back to You

by Area5150



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Play Fighting, Sex in a Car, wasteland sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 06:23:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4908715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Area5150/pseuds/Area5150
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Furiosa was looking for a fight. She found Max instead. Or he found her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Road That Leads Back to You

**Author's Note:**

> Diverges from the popular fanon of Furiosa seamlessly stepping into the Matriarch/Earth Mother role, because I figure she didn't get to be an Imperator by baking cookies and there's gotta be some fallout from that. Also, this is the first time since the Clinton administration that I've written in a fandom with more than like 10 other fics in it, so I feel like I should apologize in advance if I've accidentally pulled a Cassie Claire. Oh, and the title is from the song "29 Palms", by Robert Plant.

He doesn't know how she found him. Maybe it was some preternatural kind of magnetism, his blood pulsing through her veins, drawing her back to him like iron to a lodestone. Or maybe it was just more of the same synchronicity that put him in her path in the first place.

He hears the distant rumble of her bike before he sees her. He's slouched in the driver's seat of his car, one hand on the ignition and the other holding up his binoculars, and he wonders if he's hearing things, seeing things, another ghost coming to torment him.

If she's a ghost, she's a convincing one. He goes for the direct approach, starting his car and racing down the switchback to pull up behind her, but not too close. When she catches a glimpse of him in her mirror, she wheels around, her pistol raised.

He slams on the brakes and skids to a stop perpendicular to her, ducking down to let her shots pass through the windows. When a few seconds pass with no more gunfire, he holds up his hands.

"Out!" she yells. "Keep your hands up!"

When he peers over the edge of the window frame, he sees her crouched behind her bike, the gun trained on him. She's wearing goggles but he can still see her eyebrows shoot up when she recognizes him.

"Max?" Her voice is incredulous, as if she was expecting to find ghosts out here, too.

"Mmm hmmm." He opens the door, unfolding himself from the car as she runs toward him.

She comes to an abrupt stop in front of him, raising her hands to his shoulders, just short of touching him. When his eyes meet hers, she grasps him and pulls him to her, her metal hand on his back and her flesh-and-blood hand in his hair. "Max," she whispers against his temple.

"Mmm. That's me." His hands hover over her back, then come to rest on her shoulder blades. He feels linen and leather under his palms, and her smile against his neck.

"Are you all right?"

"I get by. You?" He rests his head on her shoulder, keeping a watchful eye on the horizon.

"We're good. Maybe  _too_ good." She sighs. "Word's getting around. Come in peace, or go in pieces. These days most of them come in peace."

"You don't want to get soft."

She laughs harshly and then steps back to look at him. "I would have given anything for what we have now. But sometimes I just want to..."

"...Run away into the wasteland?"

"Yeah." She looks out into the distance.

"What are you looking for?"

"I don't know. Maybe just some ass to kick."

He holds up his fists in a boxer's stance. "You want to...?"

A slow smile spreads across her face, and she takes a quick jab at him. He easily blocks it and swings his fist at her head. She ducks and lands a punch to his ribs. She's holding back, leaving him with enough breath to lunge at her, knocking her off balance. On her way down she hooks her foot behind his bad knee and they both end up in the sand. He rolls over on top of her, his knee between her thighs and one arm pinning her shoulder, but with the ground at her back she has enough leverage to shove him off and straddle him, her metal hand at his throat.

"Okay, I give up," he says, raising his hands.

"Already?"

He smiles. "No." He grabs her flesh-and-blood arm with one hand, shoving at her other shoulder with his other hand and driving his hips up, pushing with his good leg to flip her over onto her back again. He pins her thighs with his, catching her wrists in his hands and letting his greater size and weight hold her down before she can throw him off again, but he's using all his leverage to keep her there and if he moves, she'll clobber him. "Now what?"

She relaxes under him and smiles. "I win."

"Hmmm?" He raises an eyebrow, still not letting go of her.

"You left your throat exposed," she whispers, raising her head to rake her teeth over the skin above his carotid artery. Her teeth come together in a gentle bite, and then part as her tongue flicks out to taste him.

There's a flash-fire heat coursing through him and a groan rumbling in his throat and his blood is roaring in his arteries, pulsing primal rhythms as it flows straight south and he has to get  _away_ , before she feels the surging stiffness of his desperate flesh and sees him as just another rabid wasteland creature.

"Yeah, you win," he gasps, bracing his hands on either side of her and pushing himself up.

She's on him as soon as he lets go, shoving him onto his back and straddling him, her hands on either side of him, her body poised a fraction of an inch over him. She's not quite touching him but she's close enough that he can feel the heat of her even though layers of cloth and leather, and he's sure she can feel him, too. Her eyes glimmer golden-blue in the desert sun and she leans her head down to whisper against his lips, "What do I win, Max?"

"Anything you want.”  He can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but ache and burn and  _need_.  “I'm yours."

He feels her smile as she brushes her mouth over his, and lowers her hips to press against his hardness. It's been... years? decades? since he's willingly allowed any touch more intimate than the quick, angry strokes of his own hand, on nights when the aching hunger becomes too much to bear. When he wakes up with Jessie's name on his lips and the ghost of her form in his arms, he finishes it hard and fast, punishing himself rather than pleasuring himself, for daring to dream of the woman he couldn't protect from this world. He's grateful that Furiosa's body is lean, hard, muscular, because if she felt more like  _her_  he might ruin the mood by sobbing. He wants to tell her to take him, use him,  _hurt_  him, but he can't form the words, can only moan against her skin and clutch at her back as she moves her lips over the line of his jaw and rocks her hips against his.

"Wait," he gasps, stopping his hands before they can stray lower. It’s too exposed out here in the sand. Too easy to lose himself in her, not see danger coming until it’s too late. 

She looks up at him, question and concern in her eyes.

"Not out here." He nods toward the car.

She jumps to her feet and holds out her hand. He takes it and lets her haul him to his feet, and doesn't let go as they stagger to the car and he tumbles into the driver's seat, reclining it to let her climb on top of him.

"You clean?" she asks as she works at the fastening on his pants. 

"Yeah." He reaches down to help her. "But I don't have any..."

"It's all right. I can't." She looks down as her hand pushes his ragged briefs aside and finds his hot, hard flesh.

"Sorry." If she could, if  _they_  could, would he try again? He doesn't want to think about it, and maybe she doesn't either, because she silences him with a metal finger on his lips. He opens his mouth to taste the cool steel  and almost as if she can feel him, she looks up at him and watches with a cryptic half-smile as he closes his lips around her finger and sucks. She doesn't take her eyes off him as she slowly withdraws her hand and reaches down to run the smooth edge of a finger up the length of him.

He has to close his eyes and clench his teeth to keep from exploding. "I- please - nnnngh..." His words trail off in an inarticulate groan as she gently grips him and moves her hand up and down. His hands clutch at her waist, then slide over her hips, fingers tracing the curve of her ass and then back up over the solid muscles of her thighs, pausing just short of where her legs join, and he opens his eyes in silent questioning. She nods almost imperceptibly and he slips his hand between her legs to feel the heat of her as he caresses her through her trousers. She unzips her fly and he moves his hand to let her shove them down, revealing a white linen wrap. When the fabric doesn't give, he settles for stroking her through it, feeling the contours of her flesh through the thin cloth. She reaches back to tug on some hidden piece of it and then the wrap is falling away too, baring her hot slickness to his touch.

He almost forgets how to breathe. She moves against him, guiding his hand to press the heel of his palm where she's most sensitive, letting him tease the tips of his fingers against her entrance with every stroke. His other hand cups the back of her skull, her close-cropped hair bristly-soft under his fingers and he holds onto that sensation, lets it ground him here, in this moment, with her.

She quickens the strokes of her metal hand on him and leans forward to take his lower lip between her teeth, biting and sucking. She hears the wordless plea of his moan and pushes his fingers into her as she bites down hard on his neck. Her grip on his cock is just on the right side of painful and then it's all too much and everything's flaring white-hot and he's crying out and spending himself into her grasp.

When he opens his eyes he sees her looking at him with that same cryptic smile again, and he has to look away. "Sorry," he mutters. "It's been a while."

"I'm not going anywhere. Are you?" She leans back against the steering wheel, pushing her hips down onto his hand.

He shakes his head, stroking his fingers slowly in and out. She's silky-slick and he wants to taste her, but he doesn't want to stop touching her. His other hand caresses her face, his thumb tracing the curve of her lips, his fingers brushing down the angles of her cheek and the curve of her neck, moving down to explore the straps of her prosthetic where they meet the flesh of her arm and then the rods and gears that make up that part of her, because this is her body as much as if it were flesh and blood and he wants to know all of her.

He brings her metal hand to his lips, tasting his own salty bitterness on her fingers as he licks and sucks, the metallic tang of the steel underneath it like the flavor of blood. His other hand glides against her, inside her, the liquid heat of her desire slickening the friction of his strokes and she presses his hand harder against her, rocking her hips into his touch. Her breath is coming in shallow, moaning gasps and she arches her back, clenching around his fingers and then she's shuddering and throwing her head back in a primal cry.  He doesn't stop, stroking her to another moaning, shaking climax. Her hand catches his and he softens his rhythm to a lazy caress, drawing little shivers from her as she slumps forward against him.

She rests her head on his shoulder, catching her breath, and he slowly withdraws his hand, bringing his fingers to his mouth to taste her essence. He's getting hard again, his cock swelling against her coarse curls and soft flesh, and she looks up at him with a gleam in her eye and a smile on her lips. "Who  _are_  you? Really?"

He's strangely thankful that she asked  _who_  he is, not  _what_  he is. What can he tell her? What makes sense? "I'm just Max."

She leans in and kisses him again, softly this time, lifting her hips to take him inside her, and their bodies fit together as perfectly as if they were made for each other. For a second he closes his eyes and then he's back with  _her_ , in a world that only exists in his dreams.

"Are you all right?" Furiosa's voice snaps him out of his reverie and he doesn't know why she's asking until he feels her fingertip  brush a tear from his cheek.

"Yeah." He tries to smile. "Sorry." He might have been about to continue with  _Sorry if I love you, because everybody I love dies_ , but she doesn't give him a chance to say any more, just quiets him with another kiss. And then she's moving her hips and he's thrusting up into her, the two of them finding a rhythm like a perfectly tuned engine, or hearts beating in harmony. She breaks their kiss to rest her forehead against his, letting him stare into her eyes as he holds her tightly in his arms, her flesh-and blood fingers buried in her hair and her metal fingers gripping his arm. His hands move all over her, the warmth of her skin, the lean strength of her body reassuring him that this isn't a delusion, that he isn't going to wake up with the taste of the desert in his mouth and an aching hardness below his belt.

One of his hands finds its way between her legs, brushing through her curls to caress her still-sensitive skin and she's still hot-slick and ready for his touch. Just a few quick strokes in the right places and she's clenching around him, her breath hot quick gasps against his lips, and he lets go, lets himself shatter with release as he spills his seed deep inside her, nothing left but this explosion of pleasure as the two of them combust together.

She doesn't pull away afterward, and he doesn't let go of her. Her head is on his shoulder again, and he rubs his cheek against hers and whispers, "Do you want to stay out here? With me?"

"Yeah." She turns her head to kiss his stubbly, sun-roughened skin. "But I can't." She sighs. "Do you want to come back with me?"

The thought of being able to sleep without one eye open looking for raiders, being able to take a bath and clean up and do this right, being able to lie out in a quiet garden grove under the moonlight and kiss every inch of her... He feels his heart ache with the memory of things that never were, that never  _could_  be, not with him... the way he is. "Nah." He has to force the words from his lips. "I'm not really the settling down type."

And maybe she hears what he's really saying, because she picks her head up to look him in the eye. "Do you like killing people?" Her tone isn't accusatory, just curious. And... something else.

He hears words from another life. Or maybe the beginning of this one.  _It'd take you ten minutes to hack through it with this. Now, if you're lucky, you could hack through your ankle in five minutes. Go._

"Yeah. When they have it coming."

"What would you do if things went back to the old ways?"

"Dunno. Probably the same thing I do now."

"Why?"

"Because some things can't be fixed." He asks the question he suspects she wants to hear. "Do  _you_  like it?"

She nods, slowly. "More than I want to." She sighs and looks out the window, off into the distance. "With Joe, it was simple. Easy. We just killed everybody who needed killing. Now..." She raises her metal hand. "Sometimes when people aren't cooperating I just want to..." She snaps her fingers shut in a tight fist.

"I know." He reaches out and runs his fingertips over her hand, and she opens it to let him take it in his. "You want me to tell you it'll go away? It won't. But sometimes it gets a little better. When you have something to hold on to."

She doesn't say anything, just looks at him, the faintest twist of a smile at the corner of her lips. Finally she rests her head on his shoulder again. "I should head back," she whispers.

He runs his free hand up and down her back, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing. "I'll go with you. At least for a little ways."

Her hand squeezes his. "If you ever want to settle down, you know where to find us."

"And if you ever want to run away, you know where to find me."

He can't see her face, but somehow he knows she's smiling. She doesn't move to leave. "It's kind of nice out here when nobody's chasing you."

"But sooner or later somebody always comes to chase you."

"Yeah." She looks up at him again, propping her arm on his shoulder. "You gonna run forever?"  

"Until somebody catches me."

"Maybe  _I'll_  catch you."

He smiles. "Maybe."

Her eyes gleam like sunlight on water and he thinks that he might not mind being hers, and not just in desperate, fleeting moments when both of them are trying to escape from... everything. And he knows it's dangerous, because nothing lasts in this world, nothing good. But if they can hold on to each other, keep from sinking into the darkness, maybe it's enough.

For now.


End file.
